by MARJORIE PICKTHALL (1883-1922)
See, the grass is full of stars,
Fallen in their brightness;
Hearts they have of shining gold,
Rays of shining whiteness.
Buttercups have honeyed hearts,
Bees they love the clover,
But I love the daisies’ dance
All the meadow over.
Blow, O blow, you happy winds,
Singing summer’s praises,
Up the field and down the field
A-dancing with the daisies.
ABOUT the beginning of the 20th century, the attention of many readers was attracted strongly to the remarkable character of the contributions of a 17 year old girl to the Young People’s Corner of the Mail and Empire. It was evident that a genius of a rare order had appeared in Canadian literature. continue here